


In Which It Is NOT Just A Statue

by cuntoid



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Demonic Possession, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingerfucking, Masturbation, Possession, why am i like this, why doesn't this ever happen to me when i go on walks in the woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9996920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: There's a rumor in Oregon that if you find a certain statue, you can summon something. You're feeling frisky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, that makes you just as fucking gross as I am. Welcome to hell.

There's a monumental difference between _knowing_ something and _using_ that knowledge. 

You know it's ill-advised to fuck around with the supernatural - even staunch non-believers agree with the notion that it's better left alone. Yet here you are, fucking around anyway, abusing the information and hunting down this stupid statue in the middle of the woods. 

You've seen pictures of it and heard rumors about what it does when you speak the incantation, but never any proof of the latter. Locals are kind about your questions, but they seem a little dodgy. A little too practiced. Your enthusiasm garners comparisons to "a boy that spent a summer here." Ominous as it sounds, the comment doesn't sway you from your goal: to find the damn thing and satisfy your curiosity.

And here it is.

There's a fleeting sense of triumph as you study its crumbling form, stone carved into some cartoonish representation of the demon. It's the Eye Of Providence; much more sinister and with some creative liberties (a top hat?), but recognizable nonetheless. You brush away some dead leaves and moss as you wonder what in the hell you're really doing here. It seems silly to speak some made-up incantation _now_ , being in the presence of the thing. It's just a glorified statue. 

You mumble the words anyway, eyes darting around for any supernatural witnesses before fixing back to the statue. You trace the slit of its pupil as absolutely nothing happens. Even the wind is still, and for that matter, so are the creatures in the woods. Not one chirp or snapping twig catches your ear.

"Well," you sigh, tracing its arm. You grasp its rough, outstretched hand and accept defeat. "This was an utter disappointment. I'll tell you what, I'll make you a little deal. I'll stick around a few if you do something. Show yourself, do a magic trick, _posses me_ for all I care. Otherwise, I'm getting the fuck out of here." As you mumble this half-assed offer, you think about what you might do when you get back home; jerk off, maybe, take a nap. One after the other. You aren't picky.

The statue hums.

Before you can yank your hand back, blue flames engulf your hand and the entire thing crumbles to dust, sifting through your fingers and spilling around your jeans as you kneel in the dirt. You curse under your breath and press your shaking hand against your chest, heart racing, and again scan the area for any company. 

_"Looking for me, doll?"_

A cold finger slides down the nape of your neck and you spin around to see _him_. He's just like the statue, except... not. He circles you like a predator, flat and three-dimensional all at once, like transparent images layered over each other. It makes your head hurt to look at him, the smooth golden surface that's not a surface at all, winking at you in the weak autumn light. He watches you with one narrowed eye, his face void of any real features and yet horrifyingly expressive. 

"Wh-what -"

"Bill's the name! And _I know,_ this is a lot to take in, isn't it? But you _will_ take it in." You know beyond a doubt that Bill is grinning, though he lacks a mouth. "I believe we have a deal?"

"Wait, I didn't - I didn't expect -"

"- me to be real? I know. I _know_." He moves in close enough to touch, radiating strange warmth. Peering at you. Any handle you have on your nerves is slipping quick as he glides this way and that, examining your seated form, too close for comfort. "But I've spent long enough in that fucking _ruin_ of a dimension. I'm here. _I'm real_. And you've so _graciously_ offered your own body as a vessel. What a _fine_ one it is, too! Do a little spin for me, doll."

You stare blankly at Bill and he motions impatiently at you, twirling his finger. "Come on, up, up. _Spin_. Good. _Very_ good."

His form shimmers and glitches in and out of focus, unwilling to adjust for this world, and you understand with devastating certainty that you've made a mistake. He laughs and grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to pay attention. His hands almost feel human, they feel like skin, but the texture is wrong. Your stomach lurches as he strokes his thumb across your cheek to your lips. 

_Unnatural. Abomination._ Bill's repulsiveness is biblical. He pushes his thumb into your mouth and the sensation of his alien flesh is too much for you to bear. 

"Biblical, huh? Sweet-talker." He laughs and presses his thumb down on the back of your tongue, moaning when you gag. "You flatter me. I think it's about time we _consummate the affair,_ don't you?"

His laughter swirls around you like smoke. There's a moment of white-hot agony, stretching to some unseen horizon and overwhelming your senses, and in your mind, Bill poses the question: _if nobody is in the woods to hear you scream, are you really making sound at all?_

When it's over, and you lie in the dirt and leaves, you make futile attempts to adjust. "First possession," he clucks his tongue - _your_ tongue. "Relax and let it happen, sweetheart. I'm _all the way inside._ Worst part's over."

His voice vibrates from deep within your body, up your throat and through your lips, forming over each syllable as though you'd done it yourself. Being the backseat driver in your own body is disorienting and you struggle with the idea as he moves your arms, your legs, licks your lips, uses your body to speak with his voice. More upsetting than that is the way he rifles through your mind, watching at his leisure. 

"You're quite the busy little deviant, aren'tcha? Looky here," he sings. You cringe internally as flashbacks to different orgasms run through your mind's eye, a blur of moans and tongues and heat, but most of them achieved solo. "Yeah," Bill snorts, "hard to keep a proper count when you're so busy fornicating by your own hand. And would you look at _that_ \- you're wet. Just from discussing it! Naughty, naughty!"

You suspect that there is nothing stranger than the sensation of your own hand forcing its way down your pants. Your fingers slip between your folds, testing, gliding over your slick skin. "Sensitive little thing," he breathes. Your hand is yours, of course, but the strange disconnect between your brain and body makes for a new sensation. It feels numb and... better, somehow. You and someone else all at once.

"It _is_ you and someone else. It's _us._ And _we_ can do lots of things together now." He pushes your fingers into you and allows you to moan, long and tortuous, disappearing into the lonely trees. He moves in a way that's so achingly familiar and so _not._ It's different in a way you can't explain.

He repositions your hand so that you sink your fingers into yourself from behind, arched up over your aching arm. He snakes your free hand to handle your clit, wetting your fingertips before rubbing in the way you need it, just the right amount of pressure and speed, pausing here and there to tease.

"Now I see why you copulate so much as a race," he groans. His voice comes out breathy and strained, both of you panting and taut with tension, clenching down on your fingers with each rapid stroke. He shoves one too many inside and you rush dangerously close to the edge, bright with throbbing need. It burns as he stretches you open. "You're a good little puppet. Certainly the best human I've ever had. So _pliant_ and _willing_." 

He closes your collective eyes and images flash behind them - triangles; the spectrum from bright, furious red to gleaming gold; universes collapsing; colors you can barely comprehend but for Bill holding your mind wide open to better receive them.

"I'm showing you things most humans will never see. A gift, _for you!_ My special little thanks for what _you're_ about to give _me_." He pauses to rock your hips. Your moans come through and he allows them, his manic laughter ringing in your head, smugly triumphant. 

"That's it, that's it! Come on, doll, let go for me, give me what I deserve. _Good_. Things will be _so_ easy for you when you just give in to me. Imagine how often I can fuck you like this, what else I could do with this easy little body of ours."

Your orgasm hits hard enough to take your breath away, and then there's an alien chorus of moans coming from your parted lips, both yours _and_ Bill's. You pick his voice out from between the sharp gasps and your own ecstatic wailing. You clench and throb on your own fingers, pushed as deeply as Bill can manage, pulling them out just to shove them back in. He does this over and over, riding out the warm sparks and aftershocks, forcing you back to the brink before showing any signs of slowing. Your wrists and fingers ache, but Bill's will is iron. 

Bill pulls your hands from your poor, overworked pussy and sucks the fingers clean, moaning your name and cackling. "I think we'll make a good team, kid. I really do. But before we put into motion the slow collapse of several universes... _we're going to do that again_."


End file.
